


Flight: Feathers

by chariset



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Vastaya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chariset/pseuds/chariset
Summary: Drabbles and short pieces set in the "Flight" universe, from the perspective of other characters
Relationships: Riven/Yasuo (League of Legends)
Kudos: 14





	1. Riven

It was impossible to look at anything but him.

Until he'd appeared, she'd been glaring daggers at the handful of men who stood at the cave entrance with her. They were allowed to be there

\--how she hated it--

because they were allowed one (and only one) chance to catch her lover's attention. If he looked at one, if he was drawn to him...

 _I will kill him_.

...that man won the right to become a second mate, a potential father of his children, a permanent part of their lives. It had to be that way, Lady Alma had said. If someone was a perfect match for him, in child-poor vastaya, they couldn't simply ignore it. They had to bring him in.

And the lady would know; she'd picked up several mates doing exactly this.

 _And how did her other mates like it? No one ever asks that_.

It was a stupid rule, and all she could do was try to learn to live with it.

"This is too much. They want too much," she'd said earlier that day.

"I belong to vastaya."

"The other 'mataya yucky' don't have to do this."

"They would if called on." He'd been shorter on words than usual, biting his lip, restless; pacing until even the resident mice scurried for safer ground. It was a late surrender: he'd made it through the city budget meetings, but it had taken every scrap of his will, and now he was sinking fast. The longer he went without giving in, the harder it was on him. " _Mataya-ki_ belong to vastaya."

She'd touched the little scar under his jaw. "You don't belong to anyone." _Except me_.

He'd chuckled through his discomfort. "Then be there, _xue_."

The handful who had come to try their luck were all vastayans, and they were all much taller than she was. Like her, they only had eyes for the man who came out to meet them, half blinded in the sunlight and unsteady on his feet.

The _mataya-ke_ always got to choose.

His gaze was dull; when he was gone to this point he could barely see. Those who knew him as Elder Yasuo of Seons'e would have been shocked at the way he looked... frankly, he was a stranger even to her, and she routinely saw him dead asleep and drooling. This was not the man she woke up with; this was a dumb animal, all heat and instinct and need. It made her palms sweat to have to rely on him to choose her when half of him was simply... gone.

A sturdy matron stood at his elbow to lend support; he raised his face and scanned the line.

His eyes went to her. Only to her; not even a flicker in another direction. The murmur of grief and disappointment around her was a song of victory; she came up and touched his jaw.

 _Not long now_.

He was too fogged to answer her, even in thought.

_Wait for me._

The matron took him away; the other men dispersed. She didn't watch them; they didn't matter and they wouldn't interfere.

" _Tella-keje_ , will you come with me?" a shy voice asked. A young vastayan man gestured in the direction of a different cave entrance.

Great Child of the Protector. That was what they called her. That was why they looked at her with such awe. She was something that many of them had never seen.

The Wolfs had never seen either. She'd never let them-

_He needs you. Focus._

The hot spring steamed in the night air. A sudden desire to be neck deep in that pool made her strip off her clothing in the presence of a stranger. She felt his curious eyes on her, but her body was -- for the moment -- an ordinary woman's body, showing only the scars of her harder years. Tiny hairs stood out on her forearms when she sank in; she sat still while the shock of the heat squeezed her ribs and faded. She closed her eyes, relaxed, and waited for her body to loosen, open, prepare... Then she stood. Something new glanced off her thigh.

She'd grown up on a farm. The cow she worked without incident all fall became a different beast in the spring. So did the horse. The first time she'd seen the local stallion drop, she'd stared, just as the young vastayan was staring now. It was fair, she supposed... the look was much the same. Dark pink, soft, rolled like a tongue; inert for now.

Yasuo liked it. But all food looks good when you're starving.

It had no name. Men named them. She just called it 'It,' and for most of her life it had been a useless burden. A key without a lock; junk in her pocket.

"Heh."

Almost literally.

 _He_ was floating in the air, leading her on as unerringly as a road sign. She pictured how he must be lying, splayed on a low bed, and It took notice. It firmed up, chilly air be damned, and rose to point the way. It wanted him as much as he wanted it.

He always knew when she entered the room, no matter how dark it was. This cave was new; the walls were rough and close around them, but she had room enough to get to him and just enough light to see. He reached for her without speaking. She let him grab her wrist; his fingers were hot and damp. His scent, under the salt of sweat, was not musk; it was spicy and sweet like those peeled fruits he liked so much. She kissed his fingers and felt him shiver; she drew them to her chest. He fumbled at her, searching blindly, and a thin sound of frustration broke from his throat.

"All right."

She got up on the platform behind him. He began to breathe faster. His hair was a messy braid thrown over the side of his neck, letting her follow the furrow of his spine until it disappeared into the small of his back. She traced it with two fingers, and he shivered and made another pleading noise.

"Up." She pulled at the undersides of his thighs and he obligingly drew his feet in and got his knees under him. The new wave of scent made her eyes and mouth water; she could _taste_ him.

"...mmm..?"

"Trying not to drool on you."

He laughed silently. His mind brushed against hers.

_In..._

He rolled a little and made a feeble attempt to crawl away.

_In. Or I leave._

He couldn't get far. It went against all his instincts to move, right now. But _her_ instincts were roused-

_Don't you run from me!_

-and she seized him by the hipbones and pulled herself up between his legs. She couldn't see what she was after, this close, but her hands found it; warm, soft, and invitingly pursed. She hooked her thumbs at the corners of those lips and drew them open; inside was as wet as his mouth but warmer; hotter than body heat. With the hazy link already forming between their minds, it was someone else's hands easing her body open; she felt cold streaks on her own thighs as she wiped her fingers off on him. With one hand on his back for balance, she guided herself in.

_Hot!_

It was almost unbearable. His heat had consumed his flesh, and now it was consuming her. But she physically couldn't pull back. He had a grip on her, and his need was so overwhelming that he couldn't let her go.

She swore at him in Noxian. He made another silent laugh.

 _Let it out_.

Oh, she did. And she pounded on his helpless back with every angry syllable. But he was in control; her body did what his wanted. She fed herself to his fire, and he made strained noises as he shared her pain, but she didn't close the link between them. Nor did she apologize. It was on him for letting things get to this point. He deserved it.

Things flashed over, as they always did. She was still cursing his mother and all his extended family when she went from hot to cold, from agony to bliss. Her throat went tight as her body knotted in on itself -- it was the only way she could describe the feeling -- and her blunt nails sank into his skin, carving burning arcs that she felt on her own back.

He didn't scream; it wasn't his way. But he groaned and shuddered underneath her and then fell limp as a corpse.

 _...madwoman_...

He said his soul's name for her. It wasn't even a word; it was the image of the sun in a clear blue sky. The instant before its brightness overwhelmed the eyes, that was his name for her.

Slow throbs joined their bodies. It was hard to tell what was his and what was hers. She could still feel his heat, but each pulse soothed it with her coldness, gently and steadily washed it away.

"Mad man." She sank down and rested her cheek against his skin, but he didn't respond. He was lost in the relief of not-need. 

On the farm, the winter rains had been like that. When the weary, sun-baked, exhausted land felt the first rain, it seemed to exhale and relax, stretching out under the moisture, every tree and withered shrub reveling in water, water, water at last. That was him, his flesh under hers giving out a long, silent sigh.

To know she could do this to another person nearly brought tears to her eyes.

She struggled up as far as their tie would allow and found his head turned to the side. His eyes were open, blank. She put her nose in his braid and found the scent of water.

 _He even smells like rain_.

This was what it was to be vastayan. To see the man who was the center of her world as if he were a field at plow time. Such an odd thing.

Some time later, when his body was cool beneath hers, she pulled free and leaned over to bite him on the jawline, just over the scar. His mind was drowsy; he knew she was there but that was all.

 _I'm not ever giving you to someone else_.

She ran her hand over his back; warm, slightly yielding, slightly damp.

 _If you have to be planted, I'll plant you_.

And to her mind came the radiance of the sun, vivid in a clear sky, just before it was too bright for the eye to endure.


	2. Issaku

His job requires a lot of putting pen to paper, though most of the letters he writes aren't like this one.

Dear Hsienyo,

Thank you for giving me a copy of your script to review. While most of it is solid, I would suggest some changes for diplomacy and/or accuracy.

He taps the pen on his lower lip.

Firstly, _you absolutely must change the ending_. If this play is staged as is, half of Ginys'e will riot.

Specifically, the vastayan half.

You have Elder Yasuo played by an acrobat. He comes onstage in a clown costume and does a tumbling routine with a prop sword. You ask me if that would offend him. I say no -- I am sure he would be amused. However, the next bit is far beyond the pale.

The script then calls for "Yasuo" to produce three baby dolls from his robe, _juggle_ them, and pass them out to the other actors representing the Ionians and vastaya. Issaku is glad he was alone when he read that, because the first thing out of his mouth had been anything but genteel.

_And the gods help me if I had to explain it to Ara. She'd be wearing Hsienyo on her antlers by now._

The vastayans find childbearing sacred. Men who can do it, like Elder Yasuo, are holy to them. If they even _suspect_ you are mocking him, they will tear the place down. For the love of your city and all the gods, _change the ending_.

He has already reached the bottom of the page. To his eye it's all smudged ink and minced words. He'll have to rewrite it.

Secondly...

The script is the story of how he, Issaku-den at the time, had come to Ginys'e and become its elder, with a new act about the trial -- no, the Judgment, that was how people worded it now -- at Seons'e and its aftermath. It's remarkably short on flattery, but it makes the usual errors; all the bits that the audience has come to expect (even though they never happened). It puts him in mind of a one production that used an accurate model of Brown Beauty for their bow prop. They were teased after the first night for giving "Issaku" a child-sized weapon and used a much larger one thereafter.

No, the theatre crowd of Ginys'e weren't about to let history get in the way of a good story.

"I wish they'd try," he says to the empty office.

He reads over the lines "Issaku" has in the script. A slow-building resentment makes him take out a new sheet of paper and start going over it, line by line.

You have me say I'm not the son of anyone important. That isn't so. My father was Ririsu, late Elder of Lothis'e, and my mother was the wife of his old age.

She was a woman of no particular birth, chosen for her gentle nature and medical skill. She had been half spouse and half nurse; she had known that going in. Issaku had been born almost by accident. But Elder Riru had been lucid and sharp even after his body failed, and his last son had sat by his chair and listened. He never received the education of an elder's heir, but he saw more than he let on. When he was of age, he went to the Ionian guard, where he imagined he'd stay only long enough to earn a place in another elder's household.

I never was a 'prodigy.' Please stop repeating the line that I was an expert from the start.

He'd learned the bow the same way anyone else did: through repetition and practice. And even when he'd become an accurate shot, he was still in the middle of the pack. The bow was a child's toy in Ionia, and some of his countrymen were legendary for their speed and accuracy. But it was true that Brown Beauty, his mahogany bow, was his graduation present. She had been by his side from the start -- part of his 'legend' -- along with a short sword that was the same age. No one ever mentioned the sword, and Issaku was happy to keep it that way.

I didn't join the guard intending to become Captain. I just joined. I had to have a job.

One afternoon he found two trainees close to blows over... something he couldn't even remember now. He got between them, moved them into another room, and played mediator for half an hour. They left satisfied, and he didn't give it another thought, but the next day he was called to the command office and assigned as an officer's aide.

From that day on he was on the officer track, step by measured step. It baffled him. All he'd done was what he'd seen his father do many times: find out what the two parties actually wanted and give it to them. It wasn't anything difficult or special; nothing, to his mind, that would put him ahead of his peers. He wasn't certain he wanted to be an officer in the first place. But there were dozens of others ahead of him, and he figured he had plenty of time to decide.

The Stand at the Placidium changed that. When Bladesmaster Irelia turned back the Noxian army, Ionia at once seemed stronger and more fragile than ever before. Men and women of all ages lined up to join the guard, students were promoted early, and Issaku had been rushed into command long before he felt ready. But while his unit did see combat, it was more often than not sent to areas that Noxus had never touched; cities that had descended into infighting. His main job was to get all the troublemakers into the city center and persuade them to unite against their common enemy. Long hours trying to conduct diplomacy in armor on the back of the Yellow (a fleabitten grey gelding, now gone wherever good horses go), had taught him many lessons in human nature. He learned how to see the true desires behind the polite language, how to know when success is possible, how to know when to give up... and how to fight his way out if things went south.

Gin' Isene -- Ginys'e -- didn't seem like any Great Moment of Destiny. It was just another town with a problem. But it was a chance to play kingmaker, and he'd never had that pleasure before. It was part of a triad of border towns with Can' Isene to the north and Seon' Isene to the east; its elder had died without heirs. The highest clans in town had immediately put one of theirs forward to claim the title, and by the time the Ionian leadership realized what had happened, the internal drama had come down to a stalemate between the Abaki and the Idoni households. The rest of the citizenry was largely divided between them, and Issaku's job was to find the candidate who would offend the fewest.

He'd taken seven of his fifteen, thinking a group of eight was enough for safety without putting everyone's hackles up. He did as much advance preparation as he could, but the families were all but indistinguishable. They had manors of about the same size, about the same grandeur, about the same age -- on opposite ends of the town. The elders of Canes'e and Seons'e had no strong preference for one or the other. So Issaku went in thinking the best outcome would be for some low-ranking or nominal member of one household to get the title: a "win" for one and not too much of a loss for the other.

I did not ride into a brawl, I did not have my bow strung, and I did not shout "Halt, miscreants!"  


_I don't believe I've ever shouted "Halt, miscreants!"_

They had walked right into a stand-off, though; that much was true. The camps had a tendency to gather in the city square and yell at each other, and he and his band had ridden directly into the center of the shouting.

He had stood in his stirrups and said, "Greetings, citizens of Ginys'e. I am Captain Issaku of the guard. Please direct me to your elder."

That had been enough to get the loudest claimants to the front immediately. His men had tried not to laugh; the Yellow barely turned an ear.

He didn't do much of the talking; they were too busy yelling to listen. But he listened, with Beauty lying like a stave across the front of the saddle -- not to the case they were trying to make for themselves, but to their tone of voice and the way that they stood. It seemed to him that neither family truly wanted the job; they just didn't want the other to have it.

"Where is the elder's residence?" he'd asked.

The building was close to the center of town. It looked large from the outside, but most of it was public space; the residence was modest. He took the ones he thought were the leaders into the elder's quarters, along with his own seven, and their faces fell at how little grandeur there actually was.

The famous confrontation took place in the elder's hall. In most of the plays "Issaku" treats it like he's holding court, standing in front of the elder's chair; in one of them he actually sits down. But the truth was, the hall was the only space large enough to hold everyone. And while he had gone to the front, he had been careful to stand _beside_ the chair.

He'd gathered his seven close under guise of conferring with them. The leaders of the Abaki and Idoni leaned in from opposite sides of the room, and behind them were as many of the citizens as could squeeze in.

"If I could, I'd give it to a third party," he'd admitted to Urdu, his next-in-command. 

"Do you see one?"

"Not yet. Keep an eye out. I'll see if I can play them off each other."

So he started with the Idoni head of household, Hireo. "At the moment I am inclined toward you. How quickly can you settle your affairs?"

"Settle...?" The man had looked uneasy from the start, and he didn't seem any more comfortable now.

"Name an heir, disburse your estate. You know. You can't be head of the Idoni and Elder too."

While Hireo was still reeling from this, Issaku turned to the Abaki side of the room. "Maybe you would be better. You have a smaller family; you would fit better in these rooms."

Imichi, who was head of household, looked anxious as well. "I'd never expected-"

"To move here? You'd have to. You didn't expect to rule from your house, did you? Have the citizens of Ginys'e at your doorstep day and night?"

"But... surely I could go home in my off hours..."

"Elders don't have off hours. Elders don't have property to "go home" to."

Hireo had recovered somewhat. "Good Captain, I had hoped my youngest son-"

"How old is he?"

"Just at the age of manhood."

"Mmm." Issaku was starting to enjoy himself. "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The Idoni leader stared. "Yes. What does that have to do with any-"

"Politics. If he's of marrying age, he'll have to keep his options open. He'd better tell her it's over."

And so it went, back and forth. A marriage in the planning. A field in crop. A favorite mare in foal. It was only too easy to find some long-term project that the Eldership would cut short. Eventually even the loudest among them had started to realize that taking the office would mean a drastic change of life _and_ a step down from what they already had.

At this point, Issaku could have picked the first person of either camp who met his eyes, named him to the office, and called it done. But...

They were so closely matched that I couldn't choose one over the other. That was the way he had always worded it: diplomatically. But the plain truth was that he didn't think either party deserved the title at all.

So when the two sides had mostly stopped talking, he had walked over the elder's chair and put his hand on the back. "People of Ginys'e," he called out to the crowd at the far end of the room. "I leave the choice up to you. Who do you want on this chair?"

There was a heartbeat or two of uncomfortable silence. Not even the Idoni or Abaki could speak up to nominate one of their own.

"We want Yu!" yelled someone in the crowd.

Relief clouded his mind. "Excellent. Where is he?"

The words were taken up. "Yu! We want Yu! We want Yu!"

He stared at them, baffled. "You can have him. Who is-?"

I'm afraid you'll have to leave this exchange in. My men find it terribly funny and they'll be disappointed if you cut it.

When the guardsmen who'd come with him suddenly howled, and Urdu clapped him on the shoulder, it finally struck home. "You- you want me?!"

They did, and they got him. Within the hour he was sitting on the elder's chair, trying to write a letter with fingers that had lost all skill. He dispatched two men to the main guardpost to let them know Captain Issaku was resigning, effectively immediately, and that they should send his sparse belongings to the elder's residence in Ginys'e. His unit of fifteen was assigned to the city as well, and in due course he officially took office.

 _Elder Issaku. It took forever for that to sound right_.

The rest of the story was more recent history. He'd lost three of his fifteen at Eritu Dono'e, when the Noxians ambushed Seons'e and were massacred by their own weapon. He'd learned that Elder Souma had been murdered that same night and had attended his funeral in great sorrow. He saw the story of what he had done in Ginys'e grow and grow, until the Issaku at the center of it was some other man, a person he didn't know. And as the years passed, he watched the conflict rising between Ionia and vastaya, knowing in his heart that it would eventually come down to violence. This wasn't the kind of argument that could be settled peacefully.

Then _he_ came, walking into his hall as if he owned the place. Yasuo of Seons'e. Souma's murderer.

He didn't crawl or beg. You have this part correct. He walked in as if it was his perfect right.

At first, Issaku couldn't even speak. Everyone had respected Elder Souma; many had loved him. When the news came that he had been murdered by his own student, all of Ginys'e was outraged. To have this... this _traitor_ in front of him-! Only protocol kept him from throwing the man out on his ear; when a claimant came to an Ionian elder, he had to be heard.

So he took a deep breath and actually looked at the man in front of him. He didn't see an erratic killer, nor (as Yasuo was often called) a sword without a sheath; he saw a man covered in road dust, so exhausted that he could not even stand. He had made it to Ginys'e on resolve alone, and that same determination gave his words strength even though his body had failed him. He hadn't come to beg for mercy; all he wanted was protection until he could finish his quest. He had finally found the proof to clear his name: Elder Wasuya of Canes'e had paid for Souma's blood -- for ugly motives -- and Yasuo held the letter of contract.

Feeling like he was being drawn into something that a wiser man would avoid, Issaku had promised his aid.

But Elder Yasuo's story is his own, not a footnote on mine. If anything, I was a footnote on his.

He soon found he'd waded into a political nightmare. The Ionian/vastayan conflict was a wave about to break; he knew it as soon as they came within bowshot of Seons'e. The vastayans were in two camps: one that hated Yasuo and one that loved him. If those two groups, together or separately, turned on Ionia, it would be open war. He tried to get Yasuo to go to one or the other, but the man was determined to face Ionian justice and Ionian execution. And when Issaku exposed Wasuya's guilt and disproved his claim to the man's blood, the Arbiters -- curse them -- outmaneuvered him and put the burden of Yasuo's fate on Issaku alone.

"The great elders are made in the forge," Yasuo had said to him. The ghost of Souma lingered all around those words.

 _The city that chose me is going to burn_.

That was what he had thought as he stood and watched Yasuo trying to broker peace when it was impossible. But the fool did better than he ever could have imagined. And even if he didn't quite succeed in showing their common cause, he did escape between the horns of the dilemma, leaving Issaku in a new role -- unofficial Ionian liaison with vastaya. And with the 'title' came a remarkable healing gem, an army of new vastayan citizens, and a wife with antlers.

Arebu _shirimi-ke_ was her title in vastayan; Lady Ara was what she became. She spoke no Ionian; he spoke neither vastayan nor Old Ionian. But he took her to his heart and bed, and gave her a chair beside his in his hall, and within a few days he found they could understand each other fairly well. He wore a ring made from a cut section of her antler; she carried a lock of his hair. Still, he didn't love her, truly, until they stood together on the walls of Ginys'e. His city had come under assault by creatures from a nightmare -- something that no Ionian had ever seen, spider and reptile and insect blended in obscene parody. Both of his women fought for Ginys'e that day, and while Beauty did her part, Ara was on another level entirely. She had tipped her arrows with the white stone that Yasuo had given him as a gift, and her shots were pale streaks, miniature stars striking true again and again until the last chitinous limb stopped twitching.

Then she had released the tie that held back her white hair and smiled at him. He is fairly certain their children were conceived that night.

He has stopped writing and is staring off into space when the lady herself comes in. He reaches for the top of her head, wanting to touch the silky places where her antlers will be next summer. She lets him, briefly, and then pulls free.

"How are you?" He speaks in Ionian, but he can feel his mouth making vastayan words.

"I feel good." She wears a layered garment that cuts back in the center to show off her rounded belly. "I feel beautiful."

"You look beautiful." When he stretches his fingers to touch her stomach, she is far more willing to let him. It is firm under the softness of her skin, and her navel is just starting to poke out in the way that he's always found endearing.

She turns to the sheets of paper drying on his desk. "What is that?"

"Another play. I'm telling them to change the ending."

"So many words."

"It has other problems." He chuckles and sighs. "I know what I want to tell them. I just can't think of how to say it."

"Say it to me. Use _vashtareii_."

If she thinks it'll come out clearer in vastayan, he's willing to try. "These plays... they tell my life as they want to see it, not how it was."

"They see you as better than you do?"

"They..." He turns his palms to the ceiling. "They tell my life like it was always leading here. Like I couldn't have gone anywhere but here. Like... my purpose of existing was just to get here."

She tilts her head and rubs the spot where her left antler should be. "You start with the ending, _lebs'e_. You make all the parts build to fit the ending. You leave out what does not fit. That makes a good story."

"I suppose so." He sits up, feeling stiffness in his lower back. "Let's go out."

He takes Beauty from her peg and they shoot at targets for an hour. Ara has her hair up in a folded arrangement behind her head, and he remembers again how she looked, shooting down nightmares with the stars themselves.

It wasn't just her, the white bow, the white arrows, the white hair. It was her on the wall, bringing her legendary vastayan skills to bear against horror for _his_ people, _his_ city. She had stood and fought for Ginys'e, and that more than any of her charms had made her lovely to him.

For a flashing second he can see himself as he must have looked to that person at the back of the room, standing tall by the elder's chair with Beauty unstrung in his hand. Then he blinks and shakes his head, and the vision is gone.

He misses his next shot.

A few minutes later the pile of ink-stained paper is by the fireplace, the next morning's tinder. He takes a new pen, inhales deeply to clear his head, exhales, and begins.

My dear Hsienyo,

Thank you for sending me a copy of your new play. I like it very much and have only two corrections to suggest.

Please change the ending so that it does not appear to make light of Elder Yasuo's childbirth. Who and what he is is sacred to vastaya. The vastayans are citizens of Ginys'e who have fought to defend our city; do not insult them for a joke.

If at all you can, show that I have changed over the course of my life. I never expected or even wanted to hold the title of Elder; I saw enough of the job from my father. But I have come to love the job and this city, and I promise to do my best to hold Ginys'e against whatever will threaten her. I would appreciate any treatment that shows my flaws more than one that makes me into a 'savior' and my arrival 'predestined.'

By my sign and seal, Elder Issaku of Ginys'e.

He is about to fold up the letter when something else occurs to him.

P.S. Please exaggerate Lady Arebu's rack. She was greatly offended by the last play that gave her a tiny crown. She is sensitive about her antlers, especially now when she's in shed, so please honor her with at least as much span as you give my Beauty.

-I.


	3. Anivia

**< The humans. You are involved with the humans.>**

Ah, siblings.

_< Truly, O Inextinguishable One.>_

**< Why?>**

_< It is my way. I like to watch them.>_

**< You carry scent. Rocks. Magic.>**

_< The land of the new magic is stirring. A change-time is coming.>_

**< You should not get involved.>**

I am not offended. This is his way of showing affection.

Ornn, the eternal fire on the mountains, does not come and go as I do. He thinks that this makes him changeless and timeless. It does not. Every time I wake, he is new to me, but I am always familiar to myself.

Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I should not get involved. A cloud's life is short, but there are always clouds.

_< It cannot be winter forever.>_

Two lives ago, I got involved. It was a breaking time. When the era turns, not even the frozen lands are immune, but the mortals who had fled to the glaciers did not know that. They saw fish, and furred things, and enough dung to build a fire. They clawed out room for their fragile lives, trusting in their mortal resilience and their hope that great events might overlook small creatures. And they might have been right if Ornn had not chosen that year to turn over in his sleep.

The mountain shook; his forge overflowed. A tongue of molten rock cut their group in two and stranded a young woman beyond hope of rescue.

I threw the snow down. It melted and flowed, but it was not enough, nor cool enough.

I threw myself down. I flared my tail, tucked my head, and bent myself into a living bowl over her body. And all that night I endured True Fire, and by morning most of me had pitted and rotted and flowed away. But the woman was safe. And just before I broke into pieces, I saw that she stood in the open chill and felt no cold.

When I awoke, there were many like her. They called themselves Iceborn.

Ornn does not know this story. Why would I tell him?

I am True Ice. Few can stand within the circle of my wings. But not long ago, I met a man from the south who burned with a fever that the Iceborn can never have. He was so overheated that returning to the warmer lands would have killed him. But he was foolish. The cure was at hand, but he refused to take it. He believed that he should die.

I did not.

A woman had followed him. She knew he was dying, and she was distraught. But while I could buy him some time, there was little I could do for her.

"He will not accept you now," I said. "You must wait for him to return to you."

"Will he?" she had asked.

"Yes," I said. "If he does not run headlong to his own death, he will come back to you."

It was a story, he and she. I could not resist the urge to become part of it. So when they finally returned to me in the winter lands -- together -- I promised them a gift. 

In the due course of time I flew across the salt water to their nest. It was quite nice. The walls were the work of a hotlander who had called the very bedrock out of the earth, neat and straight; no decoration except a lattice of braided strands at the top. In the frozen lands, mortals seldom order the land to move; it is enough audacity to try to scratch a living on its surface. What reshaping they did was more in line with the carving these Ionians were doing in the neighboring hills, digging out just enough frozen earth to make a shelter.

The shouting from below was gratifying as I circled to land. Frost bloomed on the grass before my feet even touched down.

The man came out to meet me with the woman beside him. Behind them was most of the population of the town, bundled against my cold. They were a mix of true-mortals and spirit-mortals from the older lands... and among their number was a woman who caught my attention. She was carried on a chair between two men, almost on level with their shoulders. By mortal standards she was ancient; by mine, she was a mature adult.

I spoke to her privately. "Old Mother, how do you know the Man of Peace?"

She motioned her two carriers to bring her closer to me. "The Maker sent him to me," she replied. "That is the simplest form of the answer."

It was another story. But before I could hear it, I had work to do. "Where is this well on the mountain?" I asked the man.

The new-magic people had created cold caves by seeding the rocks with ice. Even with their skill, it had taken years. I could do it faster. I plucked the smallest scale from my leg and dropped it carefully down the hole they had bored, and then I moved off so they could move the stone seal into place and close the well. This was my marriage gift to the Man of Peace and the Broken Woman.

I stayed only a few days. I perched on the sea to keep the land from suffering my chill, and groups of children were always nearby to collect the salty ice that washed up on shore. In that time I met Old Mother and her mates, and I learned the story of her shame. And the Man of Peace told me how he had resolved to mend the wounds: to find the mortals who had new-magic roots and were unaware.

Then, by moonlight, the Old Mother came to the shore on foot. She hobbled; her long hair dragged on the sand. And with her was a young woman who would not look up.

They were alone.

"Mother Bird," she said. "This one asks for any help you can give."

The young woman was new-magic, of the type that the new-magic people called the image of the Maker. She was one of those who had not known. Her shame was as clear as the weary, worn condition of her body.

"What you are is not wrong, child," I told her. But her self loathing hung close around her like a poisoned cloud.

_What has she to hold her here...?_

"If you can walk out to me on the water," I told her, "I will help you."

The ice was thin near the shore. She stepped onto it without hesitation. She stumbled out to me. As soon as she came within reach, I felt the fever that burned high in her body. She had no difficulty standing in the circle of my wings.

I spread my feathers. I bent over her, tucked my head, flared my tail. All the remainder of that night, she endured True Ice under the living bowl of my body. And in the morning, the fever was gone, never to return again. She was no longer a creature of the warm lands. She was Iceborn.

**< You should not have become involved.>**

I took her to the Avarosan lands. She needed to learn new ways, new clothing, a new language...

_< Death and rebirth is the true immortality, brother of mine.>_

Warmother Ashe had given her a new name.

_< I wish you could become more involved.>_

**< I tried once. It did not suit me.>**

He thinks he is timeless and unchanging. He is wrong. One day he will meet someone who piques his curiosity, and something new will come to be.

_< Fireborn. How does the sound of that strike you?>_

**< It is foolish. You are foolish.>**

Aha. He likes it.


	4. Gili and Vaska

_Benebi vetan-ki_.

"What does that mean?" he had asked.

"Son of my sword." The man was short of words, as always.

"Yes, but what does it _mean?"_

Yasu-aki had called them his children for as long as Gili had known the man. He'd assumed it was some Ionian custom, but when he kept saying it in vastaya, when they were all _mataya-ki_ in training and supposed to be on the same level...

 _He didn't even know what_ mataya-ke _ **meant** until we explained it to him_.

"I am responsible for you," he had answered.

"Because you saved us?"

"You're not safe."

"Why not? We're here."

Those brown eyes had pinched at the corners. "...Vaska."

Gili had been told what had happened to his brother. He'd had to be told, because he didn't remember. He remembered only being up in a tree, watching hunters on the ground below, searching for him. He remembered how Yasu-aki's breath had been slow and even against his ribs; how his own heart had pounded so hard he was afraid they would hear it.

Vaska said he didn't remember anything at all. But he must have kept the memory somewhere, because he flinched whenever someone touched him.

"Focus." The man handed him his scattered arrows. "Accuracy first. Speed will follow."

"And I'm not safe either?"

"No. You miss too often."

 _Why are we wasting time on this? They won't let me use a bow_.

As if he could hear the thought, the man had said, "You are a warrior. Use your best weapon. Don't be a dignified corpse."

The Children of the Maker didn't use bows. Everyone knew that.

Yasu-aki knew how to speak vastayan, but he was deaf to the nuances. He hadn't even realized Alma-sesa was grooming him to be her apprentice. Nor that Bene-kije, one of her mates, was displaying for him like a _do'ele_ in fall plumage.

Now it was months later. Yasu-aki had left with Alma-sesa, but Beneki had not gone with them. And Gili -- by special permission -- still had his bow.

"Am I safe?" he asked the darkness.

"What?" The man in bed with him was facedown in the covers... as usual.

"Just remembering something."

He tried not to mention Yasu-aki to Beneki. Every time his mate called him Birdy, he remembered that the pet name had been intended for someone else.

 _He can feel rejected if he wants. I don't. I won_.

 _Mataya-ki_ could have multiple mates. _Tella-ki_ could, but only if none of them were active _mataya-ke_. No Child of the Maker would tolerate a rival when mating was at stake. If someone had offered to take Gili and Vaska as brother-mates, they both would have refused. No matter how much they loved each other, they eventually would have fought... or worse.

Yasu-aki had known this. That was why, when the Council denied Gili his bow, he had struck Beneki to the ground and challenged Gili over his body.

"Do not be afraid," he had said in practice, over and over. "Do not hesitate."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Find the warrior's mind."

He never had, no matter how often they sparred. But when Yasu-aki put a blade to Beneki's throat, Gili found within himself something fearless and feral. He wanted nothing but the man's heart on the point of his arrow.

"Did you say 'safe'?" Beneki mumbled.

"It was nothing. Go back to sleep."

He hadn't taken a life that day, but it was only because Yasu-aki broke all his arrows. When the man snapped his bow and went for Beneki a second time, Gili had stabbed him in the chest with the jagged pieces. Fight done. Mate won. He'd left his rival gasping on the floor and walked out with his prize.

So what if the man had once saved his life? So what if the man had called him "my son"?

 _He should have told me that the warrior's mind wears off_.

"What was it like having us fight over you?" he asked.

"Terrible. I thought he would kill you."

"Pff. _Mataya-ki_ don't let anyone mess with their mates."

"Guess so." Beneki went quiet. Must have been feeling rejected again.

"Did you really want him?"

"I just didn't want to be Alma's little side piece any more." The _tella-ke_ rolled onto his side. "Why'd you say 'safe'?"

"Stubborn _gatse_."

"Why?"

"Yasu-aki told me he couldn't leave until I was safe."

"Well, you must be, 'cause he's gone."

A bow. A mate...

"Yeah."

The bone-deep certainty that _no one and_ _nothing_ would get to Beneki while Gili was still breathing.

He felt himself smiling. "Yeah. I guess I'm all right."

* * *

A young man sat sweating, his blankets in a knot at his feet. He had broken his bond with Irado two days ago, and in its place was a hollow feeling that had only grown. With it came restlessness, loss of appetite, and irritation that it was so _akeret_ hot in his room.

He'd spent a year dreading this moment, but now that it was here, he was too miserable to brood on it.

Beside his bed was a much-folded scrap of paper, written in such large and untidy characters that he knew the author must have written it himself.

> _Vaska,_
> 
> _I am no longer welcome here. But I know you will be safe. Go bravely, as you have, and you will succeed. You will have a future. One day I will see you with sons of your own._
> 
> _Yasuo_

It wasn't his actual goodbye. Yasu-aki had said his farewells formally, sitting next to Alma-sesa and her mates. But someone had found that letter stashed in the scraps beside the fireplace and sent it to Vaska. He loved it for its awkwardness.

 _He called me his son, but he wasn't exactly good with fatherly words_.

Well. Vaska wasn't anyone's child any more.

He had let his safety bond go. He had "practiced" with young _tella-ki_ who wanted experience. He had opened himself to spring and the wild new desire it would raise in his body. And as he sat sweating, he trembled in his skin, not knowing exactly why.

In late afternoon he couldn't bear it any longer. He walked unescorted to the cave system where _mataya-ki_ met their mates. He went into the cold pools, as so many had before him. And, just as sunset, he met his first group of true _tella-ki_.

They were bigger, taller. They formed a wall; they blocked the sun. His mouth went dry.

He didn't remember, but he _remembered_...

_"Go bravely"_

Not long ago, he'd intercepted a _tella-ke_ student his age, just after archery class. He'd taken both of them into a side room and asked -- no, offered. Sihona was not so tall, but he was taller than Vaska; he had smelled of salt and grass. Their initial attempt failed, but it only had made Vaska more determined. The second time they went out into the woods at night and fumbled their way to success. A little before dawn, they succeeded again.

Just afterward, Yasu-aki had caught them. He hadn't said much, but Vaska had seen the pride in his eye.

_"Go bravely, as you have"_

He raised his head. The ones who faced him were _tella-ki_ near his own age. And they all, to a man, looked at the ground.

_They can't do anything unless I let them_

He came closer. The bravest ones looked up. He saw hope in their shy smiles.

_My choice_

The man stood at the far end. He couldn't even raise his eyes until Vaska was nearly in front of him. When he realized he'd been chosen, the _tella-ke_ jumped. Fear and joy rolled ahead of him in a giddy cloud. His knees were bent as if to run away.

_He's afraid?_

He took the man's hand. It was cool and slightly damp. 

_Come with me._

He might have said something, but he doubted it would help.

_I'll show you how to be go bravely. I'm not good at it. But I'm getting better._

And together they went, as many had before them, into the caves that were their future.


End file.
